Finding Honor in Flesh
by E. V. Briar
Summary: [Zuko/Sokka M/M Romance] Lost in a frozen forest together, Zuko and Sokka huddle together for warmth - trading their allegiances momentarily for pleasure. [Rated M for explicit content.]


**Finding Honor in Flesh** — One of Two Parts, Part One entitled _Only For a Moment_

* * *

"Nephew," Uncle called, having cracked open the door to his room and interrupted his meditation. Without opening his eyes, the price answered: "Have they been spotted?" because he would not accept being intruded upon for anything less.

"Just along the coast. Sleeping, it seems, our scouts say."

The teenager's chest was light with relief. "And Zhao?"

"Nowhere to be found," Uncle answered. "But it's only a matter of time before he shows up."

Zuko's ship was hard on course but so was Zhao's – at times they even seemed to be following each other. Finally, eyes opened and glanced at the dual swords upon his wall. He would free the Avatar from capture before letting anyone else take him in – and he already had. There was no room for his failure.

"Keep the ship out of sight and dock at the opposite end of the coast. Tell the crew to prepare for a fight."

The creak of the door meant Uncle was leaving, but soon it stopped. "It's quite cold – winter's upon us. Make sure you bundle up."

With that, Iroh left, leaving Zuko to grow the flames of his candles in annoyance. He was no child. He was even on the cusp of regaining his honor and his rightful place as heir.

They had been trying desperately to capture the Avatar without so much as sighting him for two weeks now. They were left to follow a trail of stories and rumors (children claiming they'd spotted a flying bison or merchants swearing they'd sold food to two of the Water Tribe and the Avatar himself) and always arrived after they'd left. In the game of chase, the prey was always in front. The only chance a predator had, Zuko knew, was to outrun or outwit. So far they had no luck with speed and would now rely on stealth. A surprise attack could work as well as any other.

An hour later, in the dead of night, they were ashore on Earth land far away from where the Avatar slept. Zuko left a small clutch of men to guard their ship and took the rest – crouching into the forest, taking care to step silently, walking in a line so as not to be spotted. Soon they piled around their prince, low and waiting, still and silent. Zuko stared into the distant embers of their fire and drew his warmth from it. The three sleeping bodies around it barely moved, though one of them was snoring loudly (so loud he could hear it even from here). The bison was unaware, too.

"We'll sneak up upon them," Zuko had told the crew before they'd set foot off the ship. "No mistakes can be made. Try not to hurt the Avatar. And take the others if you can. If left free they'll try to find some way to get to him."

Zuko knew much about them, now. Even if the Avatar was a just boy and his companions were barely older, they had a way about them that was stronger than their bodies. They were not to be underestimated, lest he spend more time away from his own home and forget what it felt like completely to be a prince.

At the signal of a cold-but-warming hand, his men rushed forward with him, adrenaline surging between them all. Those three were quick but Zuko was quicker. The nets that the Avatar blew away in a gust of air were replaced by some from behind him. They were binding nets – the hugging, almost suffocating kind, the very last kind a bender would want to get stuck in. The Water girl struggled, immobile on the ground, and her brother rushed to help her. Zuko sent a blinding wave of fire his way (only a warning) and when the brightness dissipated – when his fire cleared – Zhao had the girl by her neck, Zuko's net still around her, fire in his other hand threatening to burn her. Zuko wanted to burn that smug grin off his face.

For the slightest of moments there was a standstill: Zuko, unmanned by the sudden appearance; the Avatar, burning to fight (and recently freed from his net) but hesitant because of his companion's delicate position; and the brother, waiting for his boomerang to come back. When it struck one of Zhao's men from behind, the Admiral frowned angrily and said: "Take the Avatar." Zuko opened his mouth to protest but was left silent and shocked as Zhao continued: "Kill the Tribe boy."

And then everything moved into action: Zhao kept his hold on the girl (a bargaining chip of sorts, the prince knew) while his men sent surges of fire this way and that – met with the prince's fire and the Avatar's air. The two were far too concerned with the girl's position but Zuko knew Zhao's men: they were as murderous as he was, had a deep despise for the Tribe, and were out for revenge.

If they killed the brother, the companion to the Avatar who Zuko first met (and disliked) at the South Pole, they would unleash the wrath of all Avatars before this boy and none of them would walk away from this shore. From the surges of fire that were sent toward Zuko's men, it was easy to see they were outnumbered. The Avatar was concerned only for Zhao and the many that surrounded him, while Zuko backed away from an oncoming force. He bumped into something. No, someone. He turned quickly and saw the brother – that face concerned at the approaching force but his boomerang raised in defense. There were too many to hit.

Zuko grabbed his wrist as hard as he could to prevent him from throwing it. "No," he demanded. "Run." He thrust him toward the woods, pulled all the warmth from his own chest that he could, and sent the largest wave of fire that he could conjure before running, too, into the forest.

The trees had started to burn but Zuko tried not to look back too often, concerned instead with what was ahead of him. Miles and miles of trees did not seem like enough distance between them and Zhao's small army. He was sure the Avatar could handle what remained well enough – and that was a strange thing, to be hoping for the Avatar's success, but he did desperately hate Zhao.

He was pulled from his thoughts as he was tripped by something and fell hard onto his hands and knees, scrambling immediately to find his footing again. He saw that boomerang at his feet and looked up, that boy whose name eluded him looking something between brave and worried. Zuko picked up the blade.

"What are you doing?" he asked angrily, running now partway behind and beside him.

"Trying to save myself," was the reply, tone thick with contempt.

"I'm not chasing you," Zuko yelled. He turned for a moment and sent more fire behind them, toward their several pursuers. "They are."

And so they ran together, deep in the woods – Zuko wanting to keep the other in grasp as his own bargaining chip and the Tribe boy seeming to want his boomerang back. He kept glancing at it, a few feet away, the both of them exhausted and shaking with miles and miles between them and the shore. They were stumbling at a slow pace, both exhausted. The heat that came from running was leaving Zuko now. He hated the cold.

"Give it back."

Zuko, panting, looked down at the curved blade. "Why?" he huffed. "You're defenseless without it."

"I am not." He was offended. "I can still fight."

"Against me?"

There was silence as Zuko was looked over. More silence as the Tribe boy seemed to realize that fire against mere fists was no fight at all. There was no quarrel to be had, now – no matter their feelings for each other (hatred, no doubt), nothing could be gained by harming the other. They were enemies of the same enemy, and they had only just outrun their predator.

"Where's the shore?" the Tribesman asked. Zuko glanced around, already knowing he had no idea but offering that gesture as his answer. "Great. Lost in the middle of some forest with the worst guy I could think of. I hope I'm still sleeping."

The prince was offended, deep down, but wouldn't say anything. The worst? Surely this boy would rather be with Zuko than his father (although, if the Fire Lord was here, the Tribesman would be dead). Freezing, Zuko tried to pull his hood down to shield himself from the wind but it didn't help. He tucked the boomerang into his belt and brought his hands to his mouth, breathing a light fire into them. That moment of warmth was interrupted as the other began to yell for his friends. "Aang!" he screamed. "Katara!"

Zuko was quick to lurch forward and put his hand over that troublesome mouth. It was cold against his fire-hot palm. "Are you stupid?!" whispered Zuko rhetorically. He definitely was. "Zhao will find us well before your friends do." The boy reached down behind himself for the boomerang at Zuko's belt but the prince was faster, grasping and squeezing his hand as hard as he could before the other could even touch the metal. "You'll get it back when we both get out of here alive. If Zhao's men don't kill us, the cold will."

When he was finally let go, that stupid mouth went off again. "I'm not cold," it said. "I was born in the cold. Not in the warmth of some Fire Nation murderer's bed."

At the slight at his mother, Zuko's breath steamed hot in the night air, but he said nothing and kept stumbling along. "Not cold?" he quizzed a moment later, after noticing those obvious shivers. "You're in your plain clothes and you forgot your sleeping bag back there."

"I can handle it."

It turned out he couldn't, and soon Zuko was watching him shiver against a tree as he sat against his own. They were too tired to continue. Surely they'd put enough space between them and those men.

"Why don't you use that bending you were cursed with and make us a fire?"

Zuko stopped warming his hands with his breath to reply. "They would find us from the light."

Neither of them said anything for the longest time. The cold burned like no amount of fire could and Zuko thought they'd find him frozen to this tree. Will kept his eyes open but his mind drifted as if dreaming. When he looked at the other boy again, unsure of how much time had passed, he was motionless with his eyes closed. Zuko's eyes stared at that chest. He couldn't see if it was moving. Dread filled him.

"Hey," he whispered. It did nothing to rouse him. "Hey, kid." There was no response. Finding what strength he had left in his legs, Zuko stood and crunched quietly on the snow that had made its way through the dead trees. He knelt before the other, staring intently at his chest. Still. He was dead. But suddenly –

A loud snore echoed through the woods, so loud he'd woken himself up. Zuko's amused grin was gone before he could see it. "You were sleeping." It was a statement filled with relief.

"Normal people do that sometimes." The remark was as cocky as ever but his voice was faint and trembling. If he wasn't dead now, he might be by morning, because Zuko wouldn't be able to carry him through these woods.

"I won't light a fire," he hesitantly sat beside him before he continued, "but I'll try to help."

The prince drew what heat he had left and held it as a flame in his hand before the other. Tan hands came up to warm from it. Minutes passed.

Suddenly he said, "I'm not a kid."

"What?"

"You called me a kid. I'm barely younger than you."

Zuko said nothing. So he was. Eyes glanced him over, noticing a strong jaw and the faint line of muscle on his arms. Those sleeves were short and Zuko felt bad for him, which was a strange feeling to have for this particular boy.

"Can you do any more?" he asked. "This little flame isn't doing much."

"I thought you said you can handle the cold." Zuko grew the fire in his hand and pressed it closer to the other. "Any more and I'd set you on fire."

"Like you weren't planning to do that anyway."

It wasn't angry banter; it was calm and serious. Zuko looked at his face, own brows furrowed. "I'm not Zhao," he said. "You're no good to me dead. Just like the Avatar isn't."

More silence. Then he said, "Aang told us you saved him from Zhao, when he was captured." More silence. "Why do that if you just wanna capture him again?"

"Zhao wants the glory. I need him for my honor."

"Your honor." It sounded so stupid being repeated from those lips.

"If I have him," Zuko answered, "my father will welcome me home."

"So you'll see the world end because you have daddy issues?" Zuko's flame burned higher with the insult. "I have daddy issues too but you don't see me trying to kidnap anyone."

"You wouldn't understand." Slighted, Zuko pulled his hand away, the flame dead. When he moved to stand up, his arm was grasped by a freezing hand.

"Wait," said the Tribesman. "Please."

He huffed. He wouldn't let him die. The prince sat back against the tree again, beside the boy, and soon shed his cloak to use as a cover for both of them. Cold seeped into his skin, despite all the layers he had underneath.

"Can you do the fire again?"

"If you want me to burn this up." He nodded to the cloak, suddenly struck motionless as he was cuddled against – the body beside him squirming as close as it could, eliminating all the space between them. He cleared his throat. "You really should've dressed warmer."

"There was no snow on the beach." That was true – they'd run right into a patch of cold. He almost felt bad for his part in this. Almost. He blamed Zhao more.

He sniffled from the cold air. "My uncle loves tea," Zuko said then. "Drinks it all day – hot, even when he's warm inside the ship."

A longing groan sounded, and Zuko gnawed his lip to keep from smiling, however faintly it would be. "Appa is so warm. I wish I was covered in fur."

Appa must've been the bison. Zuko couldn't even recall this boy's title.

"What's your name?" the prince asked, pulling his hand from the warmth of the cloak to conjure a small fire in his hand again, holding it close to the boy's face. He perked up at the warmth, though Zuko couldn't bare to look at him through anything except the corner of his vision.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know it."

"Sokka." 'Sokka' almost seemed offended, then. "After all this time you don't remember my name? After everything we've been through?"

A moment passed, and their breathy laughs filled the air. It was strange, to be laughing with someone you, by all accounts, disliked. Zuko had never really had a friend his own age. Azula was no friend of his – nor were her friends, by default. They would get out of the danger of cold before long and resume their positions: Sokka, helping the Avatar, and Zuko, chasing them. But it was nice, somehow, for the moment. It seemed fitting anyway, that he could find common ground with his own enemy.

When Zuko glanced over at Sokka, he saw those dark eyes on his own face and averted his own gaze. "How did you get that scar, anyway?" he asked, softly, warming up from Zuko's fire. He said nothing. Sokka didn't pry.

"Can't feel my arm," the prince said, having been holding it out all this time with fire in his hand.

The other looked at it for a moment. "Back home," Sokka said, with a sad smile like he was remembering a long-lost friend, "Infants are so small, they're hard to keep warm. So mothers will do this." Those hands pulled from the safety of the cloak, now well-warmed, and he slowly grasped Zuko's arm. The flame flickered but blazed on. Sokka touched it cautiously, unsure how he'd react. Tanned palms rubbed at his skin – kneaded it deeply – generating heat from the friction. Zuko was panting from the cold and from being touched. He didn't like to be touched. But soon his arm had stopped tingling, and he appreciated that too much to pull himself away. Sokka kept it up, and Zuko didn't know for how long, because his eyes were flicking along that hard jaw, the faint and dark hair on the sides of his head, watching the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he kneaded and rubbed. Those lips were the dark pink color left when red art on marble faded away with time.

His distraction was interrupted. "Hey, careful." Zuko looked to see that the fire in his hand had grown triple with his carelessness. A sudden shame coming over him, he extinguished the fire and huffed a tiny apology. The arm Sokka had rubbed was taken away from his grasp and tingled now with his touch. "Do it again," Sokka demanded. "It felt good."

Embarrassed and prideful, Zuko replied, "I can't."

"Why not?"

Arm shimmied down under the cloak, safe at his side. "Too cold. And the moon's at its peak."

"But you just did it." Sokka's hand reached down and grasped at Zuko's arm again, pulling it up in defiance. "You can do it again."

There was a high tolerance for demands uncharacteristic of Zuko at that moment. He obeyed and tried to pull warmth from his chest, but all he could feel was the tingling in his arm and the shame that came as he recalled admiring this boy's lips. There was barely a candle's worth of flame to be conjured. Sokka scoffed, unimpressed, and Zuko shrugged. "I'm too cold."

Without warning the Tribe boy was touching him again – higher this time, kneading his bicep with strong and rough hands, so hard it almost hurt. There was a will to the way he squeezed and rubbed until he felt muscle form to his hands and bone stay rigid in his way. "I don't wanna freeze to death," Sokka defended – but they both knew that the danger of that had long since passed. "I'm the last person who would ask the Fire prince to give me fire. So, you know I mean it: give me fire."

Zuko did – a flame the size of Sokka's head – and breath turned to steam when he exhaled again. Those dark eyes stared at it and Zuko's stared at Sokka. He watched as the boy admired the flame and breathed in its warmth, that hard massage unwavering and even deepening like he was drawing the fire from himself. Those lips were 'there' again and the prince stared. Heart was pounding in his chest and then Sokka's lips parted so a wet tongue could lick drying lips, making it dip in its beats. Zuko found it hard to breathe. He desperately wished they had never spotted the Avatar tonight. He'd be alone in his room on his ship, away from anyone, but instead he was here, practically sitting atop a boy from the Water Tribe and unable to take his gaze away from his mouth.

He did not notice when Sokka turned his attention to him, too, but at some point he did. They breathed each other's breaths, hot and mingled and urgent. There was nothing between them now except raw intimacy – boyish and rushed. There were no banners flown here, underneath this tree in this frozen forest. There was no war to be found here.

A sharp and freezing wind, cold and sharp as a blade, picked up steadily and Zuko could no longer keep his flame alive without it risking setting the cloak ablaze. The both of them made slight shifts to put them arms under the cover again – but soon Sokka was pulling it away, moving and twisting this way and that, putting the cloak on himself. Zuko had planned to protest but Sokka soon mounted the prince's lap, lying the ends of the cloak out to cover his legs. The hood was over the tribesman's face and there was no fire anymore, so Zuko could not see his expression.

"Better?" was breathlessly asked. Zuko hadn't realized that they were now shielded from the wind – Sokka by the worn cloak and Zuko by Sokka. The prince said nothing and stared at where those thighs met his own hips. He was too dizzy to think. There came no thoughts of who this boy was, or how he should hate him. Right now he only thought about how those lips were hidden in the darkness and how much he liked the color of them.

Slender hands came and slipped underneath the opposing shirt, feeling very slightly at tanned flesh, barely skimming the surface. Soon he grasped Sokka's hips completely with both hands, tightening on warm flesh. Zuko felt a touch on his jaw, hot breath on his mouth, and he glanced up only long enough to see the boy inches away and leaning closer. Eyes crossed as he dared not close them. They would kiss, Zuko thought – and then Sokka flinched and exhaled a winced breath. They both looked down to see steam rising from where Zuko's hands were on him, burning his flesh.

"I'm sorry," he whispered feverishly, only realizing now how he was trembling. "I'm sorry."

For the second time that night Sokka said, "I can handle it," and quieted the both of them with a kiss: lips of ice kissing lips of fire, warm hands on a neck and warmer hands on hips.

Still, no thoughts plagued him. He was not a disgraced prince, or a rightful heir to anything right now. He was merely a teenage boy enveloped in another teenage boy and that's all there was: no war, no cold, no contempt. His hand slipped up the back of Sokka's shirt and felt every notch along his spine. The muscles of his back were soon kneaded like the boy had kneaded his arm, returning the favor with heated hands on well-weathered flesh. Sokka's kneaded his shoulders in return, and soon those hands were skimming lower, daring to feel over ribs. Zuko squirmed from the sensitivity there and was soon feeling bare hands on bare skin, both of their shirts halfway up and exposing skin never seen before by the other.

There was a rising heat in Zuko's chest so hot that he felt like he was melting from the inside out. Surely this boy could feel it, too, because he was breathing hotly and soon there was a faint sweat dampening both of them.

Sokka's hips rose off his lap as Zuko's hands dared to slip underneath his pants, underneath the final layer of fabric found there – daring to grasp and knead those mounds of muscle and flesh, fingertips brushing against the taut hole hidden between them. Sokka bucked away, kiss broken from a scoff of breath, and Zuko huffed, flustered and accepting defeat to tease.

Affection was resumed to Zuko's neck – that mouth he liked so much kissing and sucking skin, teeth grazing it. The prince nuzzled the tribesman's clothed shoulder and bit there, not letting the circle of flesh go – breathing hard against him. Wandering hands had found their way to Zuko's waist and felt at his hard girth – tanned touch stroking him through the fabric until he was painfully hard.

"Please," he breathed a desperate breath, eyes even burning from the intimacy, and it was the only word Zuko would mutter while he lost himself in this boy.

In response Sokka freed his cock from its confines, merely inching his clothing down until it sprang free – rigid and hot and aching. Hips thrust upward the moment both hands grasped around it. Zuko moaned. Hands were nearly on fire again as he bared Sokka to the night air. It didn't affect them anymore; they were dripping with sweat.

Zuko's hands formed around Sokka just the same and they were stroking, deeply and firmly, moans exchanged so often it was unclear who was closer. The darker boy pushed all hands away and instead ground his hips down as hard as he could – bare cock on bare cock, both twitching and leaking. Sokka let a line of hot saliva drip down between them, lubricant for more of his grinding.

They no longer kissed; their lips were busy being parted, breathing hard, moaning and gasping for air, trying to be quiet in the silent forest. Both sets of eyes watched them slip on and off each other – Sokka grinding downward, Zuko thrusting up.

The one moment the prince dared to look into the Tribe boy's eyes, he looked back. Rhythms matched and gazes were locked. Zuko suddenly grasped the back of his neck and pulled him close, hard and without warning. He kissed those dark-pink-turned-red lips (swollen, now, too) with ferocity. Steam rose as he burned the back of Sokka's neck. Both lost in the moment and in each other, their sounds were soon muffled but desperate, kiss continued even as both of them came all over the other – seeds shot between them, marking Fire Nation armor and Water Tribe robes and the cloak that barely hung off Sokka's shoulders.

It was over as quickly as it'd begun, and now they were both shaking harder than they had been all night and gasping for air. It seemed even quieter now, somehow, and they both tried to stifle hard breaths. The grinding and thrusting continued until the wetness between them had been rubbed into their clothes, disappeared and unseen by anyone else.

The cloud of pleasure remained just long enough for them to dress themselves properly. Sokka's legs were shaking as he took himself from Zuko's lap and settled against next to him, surely feeling the prince's trembling, too. They said nothing, and Zuko was still too blinded by lust to regret anything just yet.

The cloak was shed and again used as a cover for the both of them. The wind had died and the moon was no longer so high in the sky. "Do you think -," Sokka panted, "they got away?"  
Zuko swallowed but his mouth was becoming dry. "Yeah."

"Do you think… they'll find us?"

"Yeah."

Sokka slumped down against the tree and hid his face behind Zuko's arm. "Not too soon, I hope." A moment later he realized the boy wanted to sleep, so he relaxed back and looked up at the sky.

His mind was frozen. This all seemed a dream. He could not yet think about what they'd done, though he felt it through the cold stickiness in his shirt. They stayed like that, finding their calm breaths again and regaining spent strength. Sokka was able to sleep for all of twenty minutes until his sister's voice sounded through the forest. It called his name, so distantly Zuko thought he was imagining it at first. Then he heard it again, and he elbowed the boy hard in the ribs. He lurched up and said, "What?"

The sister answered for him. "Sokka!" she called, from behind them – they must've gotten out of the Admiral's reach and circled back around to find their missing companion.

Sokka scrambled quickly to his feet and Zuko caught his arm to pull him back down. "Wait," he said, desperately. The other boy looked at him, and they seemed to search each other for words neither of them could find. Finally Zuko pulled the boomerang from his belt and handed it over. "Here," he said, faintly. He waited a moment longer, and fished his own pearl dagger from its sheath. "This, too." Another moment, and he finally answered the boy's earlier question: "My father gave me this scar."

He looked between Zuko and the blade after he'd read the inscription, some kind of sad emotion on his face. Sokka put it in his own belt next to the boomerang, and said nothing as he hurried away toward his sister's voice. Zuko was left alone underneath that tree. He listened intently to hear them be reunited, the Avatar and Sokka's sister telling them all about how they'd gotten free from Zhao. Sokka mentioned nothing of Zuko until they asked, and as their voices trailed away, he listened to the distant story of how they fled together 'for only a minute, and then they went their separate ways'.

He stayed huddled underneath his cloak until Uncle found him, asleep and almost disoriented from the ordeal. He still could not think of what they'd done.

And Zuko never did – except in the dead nights on the ship, or when he was overly cold, or when he played with the fire in his own hand. Only during those times would the prince think about that Water Tribe peasant, with his dark skin and dark lips, making him feel for just a moment that there was no war, no cold, no contempt.

But only for a moment.


End file.
